The origins of abstentionism in the history of the Italian Republic

Ahead of the Italian elections, the historian of contemporary Europe reflects on the
long processes leading more and more Italian voters to abandon political participation.

Giulio Andreotti in Rome, Italy on November 5, 2004, a few days after Italy's highest court cleared him of cultivating ties with the Sicilian Mafia. Vandeville Eric/Press Association. All rights reserved.All citizens have the right to
freely associate in parties to contribute to the democratic processes that
determine national policy

-- Article
49, Constitution of the Italian Republic

As Italy approaches elections on 4 March 2018, it becomes ever clearer
that one of the fundamental testing grounds is not just ‘for whom shall I
vote?’, but rather ‘should I vote at all?’ Let me state immediately that I
intend to vote on 4 March, and that I believe fervently in the democratic duties
as well as rights of the citizen. But the argument cannot just stop there.
Amongst friends, colleagues and the citizenry as a whole, it has become a
commonplace to express indignation and disgust with the party system, and a
consequent intention not to vote.

The latest opinion polls for the upcoming elections see abstentionism
hovering at around 34%. According to Demos
& pi, at the end of 2016 lack of faith in the political parties stood
at a cataclysmic 94%. What on earth has happened? And how can we combat it? The
discourse would be a long one and here I can only sketch it out. Furthermore, I
am not a constitutionalist but (only) a historian. Yet perhaps a little history
could help here.

The post-war partitocrazia

In the period of fierce political and constitutional discussion from
1945-1948 which shaped Italy’s system of representative government, the parties
emerged with an excessive degree of political power. Few if any effective
controls, either external or internal, were exercised upon their activities, nor
was any obligation made to guarantee their internal democracy.

There were various reasons for this, of which self-interest was only
one. The need to combat centrifugal tendencies – long a preoccupation of the
ruling Italian elites – was another. The superficial turbulence and ideological
division of the new ruling class misled many a foreign journalist’s uneducated
eye, but in reality guaranteed great lines of continuity. Over 90% of the
citizens regularly went to vote, at both a local and national level.

This was the era of mass political parties, reassuring in some respects
but much less so in others. In particular, the historic and deeply embedded
system of favours and raccomandazioni,
of clientelism and familism, was nowhere tackled head on. These ancient but not
archaic social mechanisms were taken up by the Christian Democrats and their
allies and given a new veneer. In 1957 Giulio Andreotti went so far as to
theorise the nobility of the clientelistic system, “Honour […] to those who
serve others with a modest human contact that sometimes restores hope to those
who no longer believe in the solidarity of others.’ The only problem being that
such long-suffering acts of Christian caritas
were rarely disinterested and frequently illegal.

It was upon these bases that the Italian partitocrazia was constructed. The ruling political parties,
unhampered by the magistrates of the time (many of whom were ex-Fascists), or
by other institutional restraints, systematically occupied the state and
divided amongst themselves all the positions of power and influence therein.
Corruption was systemic, not occasional, as were contacts and exchanges of
favour between politicians and criminal organisations.

The hollowing out of direct
democracy

I have returned to the early years of the Republic in order to explore,
however briefly, the origins of present-day alienation from the political
system and consequent abstentionism. Naturally, any analysis of this process is
long and complex. It would have to pay special attention to those moments, like
the Milanese magistrates’ Mani Pulite
initiative of 1992, when it seemed as if politics was again in flux, as in the
years 1945-48. It was not to be, and the failure of that moment weighed heavily
upon key sections of the electorate, increasing its cynicism, retreat to
private life and despair.

My second reflection concerns the relationship between representative
and participative or direct democracy. Articles 50, 71 and 75 of the Italian Constitution
all make reference to the possibility of using ‘direct’ methods for expressing
the will of the people. The right to organise a popular petition, to initiate a
popular law and above all to organize an abrogative referendum are important
tools, if rather blunt and limited ones, to enable citizens to have some sort
of say in the running of the country.

Over the last 20-30 years at an international level there have been
profound attempts to link the two types of democracy, of which the
participatory budget, ‘biancio
partecipativo,’ of Porto Alegre in Brazil is only the most famous. The key distinguishing
element here is the citizens’ participation in deliberation, in the sense of their both discussing and then
deciding on specific issues. In Italy, by contrast, great play has been made by
the partitocrazia on the need for
participation, but their vision of the latter is a vague consultation,
employing the most modern mechanisms but with no powers to decide.

Matteo Renzi’s much
publicised assemblies at Florence’s Leopoldo – “not party meetings, but a
meeting of people who believe in politics” – were a perfect example of this trompe-l'œil. Other
variants include Beppe Grillo’s so-called ‘digital democracy’, which masks his
inordinate power in his party and that of his best friend’s son. Or there’s the
blunt, all-party refusal to implement the results of the 2011 referendum on water
as a public good.

Nowhere in the Italian
party system is there the minimal recognition that the constant activity of
participation guarantees, stimulates and controls the quality of
representation. Rather it is true that the more corrupt and decrepit
representative democracy becomes, and the more toothless its participation, the
more likely it is that citizens will withdraw their votes in ever more massive
numbers.

About the author

Paul Ginsborg is a British historian, who since 1992, has been Professor of Contemporary European History at the University of Florence.

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